


Carried Out By Other Means

by kjack89



Series: Canon-Era Fluff [5]
Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Canon Era, Established Relationship, Fluff, M/M, Roommates, Sickfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-31
Updated: 2014-03-31
Packaged: 2018-01-17 17:25:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,314
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1396297
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kjack89/pseuds/kjack89
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Enjolras loses his voice and Grantaire steps up in a way that Enjolras has never imagined.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Carried Out By Other Means

**Author's Note:**

> Title is from a Che Guevara quote: "Silence is argument carried out by other means."
> 
> Usual disclaimer.

Enjolras awoke before the dawn, as was customary for him, though today, it was not the usual manner in which he woke. Normally, he woke with the urgent need to empty his bladder because Grantaire had, at some point in the night, dug his elbow into Enjolras’s midsection, and he would use the stumble to the chamber pot to wake himself up sufficiently.

That morning, though, despite the dig of Grantaire’s elbow into the more tender parts of Enjolras’s stomach, the overwhelming sensation was a fuzziness in his head and a dull pain in his throat, a pain that worsened when he tried to swallow. He sat up and was instantly dizzy, and promptly lay back down.

He stayed in bed for the next few hours, until Grantaire was roused by his own bodily needs, though he literally fell out of bed when he saw Enjolras was still in it. “Are you ill?” Grantaire asked, mostly joking but with enough concern to make the question genuine.

Enjolras opened his mouth to reply, but no words came out, just a soft sort of creaking sound that pained his ears to hear almost as much as his throat to speak. Grantaire gaped at him even more than before, and was far too delighted as he asked, “Did you lose your voice?”

Glaring at him, Enjolras tried to respond, but the same sound came out and he closed his mouth and winced while rubbing his throat. Grantaire looked torn between laughing and moving to comfort him, and settled for telling Enjolras briskly, “Back into bed with you, monsieur. And there’s no sense trying to argue with me — I will be sending word to Joly that he should come by, and if you fight me on this I will gladly let Joly rearrange your room to match with the Earth’s magnetism the next time you are working on a major project.”

Though Enjolras continued glaring at Grantaire, the pain in his throat and increased pain in his head were enough to force him back into bed, regardless of Grantaire’s threat. He even allowed Grantaire to make him tea and drank it with little complaint, but when Joly came and pronounced it as a bad case of inflammation in his throat, with the prescribed treatment as bed rest and fluids, Enjolras nodded and immediately went to stand as soon as Joly had left.

“Where do you think you are going?” Grantaire demanded, moving to stop him. “Joly said bed rest, which implies you staying in bed, not leaving it.”

Enjolras made a frustrated noise and tried to speak, though the word came out more like a whining, “Eee.” Grantaire raised his eyebrows at him, and Enjolras made a face before trying again. “Speee,” he managed.

“Speech?” Grantaire repeated, cracking an incredulous smile. “Do you truly believe that there is the need to work on the speech that you most certainly will not be giving at tonight’s meeting? If there is any work that needs to be done, it will be done by me, and the work I will be doing is pulling your notes together to send to Combeferre, so that he may give the speech tonight.”

Shaking his head vehemently, Enjolras gestured frantically, and Grantaire frowned at him. “I do hope your voice returns soon, if only because you are dreadful at speaking with your hands.” Enjolras bared his teeth and Grantaire smiled at him. “You think you look fierce and yet you look more ridiculous than anything.” He crossed to Enjolras’s writing desk and fetched a piece of parchment and pen and ink, bringing it to Enjolras on the bed. He bent to kiss him lightly before telling him, “At least write what you are trying to say, so that later I cannot be accused of willfully misinterpreting your gestures.”

Enjolras wanted to continue glaring at Grantaire, but the idea was a good one, so he settled at grunting and bending over the parchment, quickly scribbling, “ _I will be the one delivering the speech tonight_.”

Grantaire scanned the parchment. “My dearest,” he murmured, and Enjolras scowled at him for the unnecessary term of endearment, “if you truly believe you will be well enough to give a speech tonight, you are, quite frankly, delusional.”

Enjolras smacked Grantaire’s arm and Grantaire winced. “Fine, perhaps delusional is too harsh a word. But if you truly desire to give the speech, you must follow Joly’s recommendation and  _stay in bed_. Preferably to sleep, but I cannot win every battle.”

Though Enjolras looked for a moment as if he wanted to argue more, he acquiesced in silence — not that he had any other way to acquiesce — and lay back in bed, sighing heavily and closing his eyes. Grantaire kissed his forehead before tiptoeing out of the room, closing the door quietly behind him.

Clearly Joly’s advice was rational for once, as Enjolras did in fact fall asleep quickly, and slept through most of the rest of the day. Grantaire came in and checked on him twice, but mostly let him sleep, though he kept a steady eye on the time, knowing that if Enjolras was convinced that he was going to be giving the speech, he would need time to dress himself and prepare.

As such, he woke Enjolras up with an hour to spare before the meeting. As Enjolras sat up, he opened his mouth to speak, but stopped, looking stricken. “I shall assume your voice is still not working,” Grantaire said, chewing on his lip. “Well, nevermind that now. We shall work something out. Right now, we must get ourselves to the Musain if the meeting is to happen at all.”

Grantaire’s brisk attitude was almost enough to stop Enjolras from despairing, though he was unusually somber as he dressed himself and washed his face in the basin. Grantaire held out his hand to Enjolras, smiling just a little when Enjolras took it and laced their fingers together.

They headed to the Musain together, though Grantaire was careful to drop Enjolras’s hand as they approached. Their relationship — if one could call it that, since they had not put precise labels on it — was not a secret, necessarily — indeed, those in high society in Paris were well aware of M. Enjolras’s only son’s live-in paramour — but it was something neither felt the need to draw attention to, and certainly not during meetings of Les Amis, where Grantaire retired to his usual corner with Joly and Bossuet and as much wine as they could carry, while Enjolras took to the front of the room and matters of serious import (though Grantaire had spent many a night convincing Enjolras of the merits of producing effects with one’s knees, a conversation between Joly and Bahorel at which Enjolras had previously scoffed).

They assumed their friends knew — in truth, their friends knew long before they did, and while the more sagacious such as Combeferre worried over the effect this might have as tensions grew throughout the city, none were willing to mention it, for fear of disrupting what balance had been achieved.

That day, though, Grantaire did not take his usual seat in the back, instead following Enjolras to the front and sitting him down in the chair. “I shall explain the situation to Combeferre,” he told Enjolras in an undertone before gesturing to Combeferre, who followed him, intrigued.

When they returned a few minutes later, Enjolras was thoroughly miserable, having tried to successfully pantomime his predicament to Courfeyrac, who could not stop laughing. He glanced up at Grantaire, who squeezed his shoulder before sitting down next to him. “It’s all taken care of,” he murmured to Enjolras, though his face seemed unusually pale.

Enjolras raised an eyebrow at him and jerked his chin towards Combeferre, hoping his meaning was plain. Grantaire flushed slightly and looked away. “Ah, no. Combeferre will not be giving the speech.” Enjolras made a slightly distressed noise, and Grantaire’s blush deepened. “I will be.”

As Combeferre called the meeting to order, Enjolras gaped at Grantaire, who steadily avoided his gaze. Internally, Enjolras was panicking, thinking of the most recent speech Grantaire had given before the group, a half hour soliloquy supposedly on the rights of man but that careened wildly to various other topics, including a muddled attempt at rhapsodizing about Greek statuary that Enjolras hadn’t quite followed, and ended with a declaration that the rights of man were folly.

Needless to say, Enjolras was quite worried, and his worry only increased when Combeferre announced, “And now, to give our address for the evening, Grantaire.”

Grantaire stood slowly, his fist clenching on thin air for lack of its customary bottle, and when first he spook, his voice shook slightly. “Citizens,” he said, without much conviction, and Enjolras, against his will, winced slightly. Grantaire saw him, and to Enjolras’s surprise, smiled slightly, and reached down to touch Enjolras’s shoulder — whether to comfort him, or for his own comfort, Enjolras did not know. “Citzens,” Grantaire repeated, his voice louder and more confident as he looked around the room. “We have come to a remarkable gathering, for on this day, in this place, we plan our future, and it is the future of the free.”

His word’s were Enjolras’s words, and his tone was Enjolras’s tone, and Enjolras was not alone in gaping at Grantaire as he continued speaking. He had never seen Grantaire like this, animated and fierce, his gestures sharp, his words lofty.

He wondered for a moment if this was how Grantaire felt when watching him speak.

Regardless, Grantaire delivered the speech flawlessly, every word verbatim to what Enjolras had written, hitting the high notes perfectly and ending on a rousing call to action that Enjolras himself could not have delivered better. Enjolras practically leapt to his feet as soon as Grantaire finished, applauding raucously, as he could not join in the cries of “Hear, hear!” echoing from around the room.

Grantaire sat down, smiling but looking slightly embarrassed, and Enjolras reached for Grantaire’s hand, squeezing it and grinning at him. Anywhere else, Enjolras might have kissed him, but for now, this was enough, and Combeferre stood again to return the meeting to business as usual. When Enjolras continued looking at Grantaire with wonder, Grantaire flushed and muttered, “What? I memorized your speech. It was not difficult, with as much as you’ve practiced it over the past few days, and I know your style well enough to mimic you, I think.”

Enjolras nodded enthusiastically, because Grantaire  _had_  known his style, and had mimicked it perfectly. He squeezed Grantaire’s hand again and took a deep breath before managing to croak out, “Thank you.”

“It was the least I could do,” Grantaire told him easily, though his smile was wide. “Now shush, you’re making me miss the meeting.”

Though Enjolras rolled his eyes, he turned his attention back to Combeferre, though he couldn’t help but notice the smile that lingered on both of their faces for the rest of the meeting.

As soon as the meeting was over, Enjolras stood, pulling Grantaire up with him, and waved his goodbye, leaving Joly to explain Enjolras’s condition and, hopefully, that he needed to get home to rest, as that was the excuse he would give if he could talk. Instead, he pulled Grantaire into the small street that ran behind the Musain and kissed him soundly. Grantaire groaned and wrapped his arms around Enjolras’s neck, pulling him closer as they kissed enthusiastically. Enjolras hoped that the kiss said everything that he couldn’t, and it appeared to, since when they broke apart, Grantaire cupped Enjolras’s cheek and told him sincerely, “You are welcome.”

Then he laced his fingers with Enjolras’s and tugged him towards home. “But do not expect me to do this again,” he warned. “I have used every ounce of revolutionary fervor that I have ever possessed, and could not give a repeat performance no matter if you begged and bribed me with sexual favors.” Enjolras shot him a look, and Grantaire considered it for a moment. “Well, it would depend on the sexual favor that you offered.”

Once they made it back, Grantaire turned to Enjolras, kissed him gently, and told him, “And now, I believe that is enough excitement for one night. You are headed straight to bed, to rest your beautiful voice in hopes that Apollo’s servant need never speak in his stead again.”

Enjolras did not complain, merely allowing Grantaire to lead him into the bedroom, shrugging out of his clothes and clambering into the bed. But when Grantaire made to slip out, he managed a small whimper and patted the bed next to him, looking at him pleadingly. “Oh, I see how it is,” Grantaire sighed dramatically, though a smile pulled at the corners of his mouth. “A man works all day while his lover lazes about, and even does his job for him, but it’s not enough for you, is it?”

Thankfully, his tone was clearly teasing, and he needed no further convincing to tug off his own clothing and slip under the coverlet with Enjolras, who curled up next to him, resting his head against Grantaire’s chest. Grantaire ran his fingers absentmindedly through Enjolras’s curls. “I do not like you silent,” he said suddenly. “I thought that I would at least appreciate the change, was prepared even to jest to that effect, but I do not like it. If I desired silence, I would not have chosen you. Nor, I assume, would you have chosen me.”

Enjolras huffed a silent laugh, and Grantaire smiled, kissing his forehead. “Which is to say that you must regain your voice as soon as possible, understood?” Enjolras nodded and closed his eyes, though he mentally reminded himself to tell Grantaire when his voice did return that Grantaire was the only man Enjolras would trust to speak with his voice again.


End file.
